The Age: Dragonborn
by Lia79.dreamer
Summary: In the time of great upheavals and cataclysms, there are always those who will rise to the challenge of bring about peace. They are many and their paths wary; some are darker than others. In times like these even a common sellsword may become the hero. Intended as a series of stories set in the same time in Skyrim, different characters from different Guilds and backgrounds.


**_Firstly, please don't hit me too hard - I know I should be working on all my other stories and I swear, I am doing just that! It's just that I had this little thing sitting on my computer for over two years and I figure I will throw it out there so that I will have a little more incentive to come back to it and continue. My muse is still being difficult and I keep jumping from story to story, only adding little bits and pieces here and there before I lose the drive and move on. So, this is my way of showing that I am still alive and doing stuff. Not necessarily stuff that I SHOULD be doing, but heh. I'll get to it. I have about a third, I think of a chapter for Chance and Fate done, but it still has a ways to go and I seem to have lost the flow I had going with the characters before._**

 ** _But I digress. Please enjoy and leave a comment. I like hearing your opinions_**

Helgen, or the art of running for your life

 _What a disaster_.

Her head was pounding as though from a wicked hangover, her body ached and she was terribly _cold_. _I should have never left Cyrodiil_ , she thought as her mind scrambled to reassemble her memory which was proving to be harder than it should have been. Where was she anyway?

Whatever she was lying on was cool and hard and rocking and lurching, making her almost nauseous. Judging by the sound of hooves, she was in a cart. _What?_

Morgan pried her eyes open slowly, squinting at her surrounding and not recognizing them. She was indeed in a cart, along with three other people, her hands were bound which sent her into a mild state of panic and suddenly she remembered exactly what had happened.

 _Damn this all to Oblivion!_

Truth be told she was not surprised that she had walked right into that Imperial ambush – that should teach her to take off with a vague thought of travelling the world without so much as a slither of a plan or preparation. It went somewhat alright at first, as she used what little money she had to buy passage from town to town, doing odd jobs within for gold before moving on. She got bolder the further she went until finally she decided that it would be interesting to cross the border and see more of Tamriel. What a bloody idiot she had been for thinking that!

Now here she was, being carted off who knew where in a foreign land, with nothing but rags she was left in when the soldiers striped her of what little she had after knocking her out.

"You! Finally awake!"

Morgan turned her head slightly to look at the man sitting across from her. He was what she imagined a typical Nord to look like – huge, blond and blue eyed, although his eyes showed kindness contradicting most stories she heard about the race. They were said to be as harsh and barbaric as the land they lived on, and while the man across from her was obviously a warrior, she doubted that barbaric was a right way to describe him.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us," he continued, not waiting for a reply, only giving her a sympathetic look as she awkwardly rubbed the bump on her head to try and ease the pounding headache. "And that thief over there."

"Damn you, Stormcloaks!" another man grumbled. Morgan looked to her right to see who else was in the cart. This Nord was dark haired and dirty and much more lithe than the blond, dressed in rags like her. "Skyrim was fine until you came along! The Empire was nice and lazy. If it wasn't for you, I could have stolen that horse and have been half way to Hammerfell by now!"

Suddenly the thief turned to Morgan. "You there, you and me. We shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

"We are all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blond warrior said bitterly.

"Shut up back there!" the cart driver ordered them with annoyance without turning around and the men fell silent for a moment.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked, nodding towards the third man in the cart. He was sat on the same bench as Morgan although as far from her as the seating allowed. He was dressed richly, but was almost as unkempt as the warrior. And unlike the rest of the prisoners, he was gagged.

"Watch your tongue!" the warrior demanded harshly. "You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!"

"Ulfric?" the thief asked in disbelief. "The Jarl of Whindhelm? You are the leader of the rebellion. If they'd captured you…" the thief paused, his eyes widening almost comically. "Oh Gods!" he burst out in a higher pitch. "Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we are going," the warrior said, his quiet voice almost soothing the face of the panic the thief was displaying. "But Sovngarde awaits."

"No! This can't be happening!" the thief wailed and Morgan almost snorted, _you and me both_.

"Hey," the blond Nord said quietly, interrupting the thief's lament of 'Oh, no! Oh, no!'. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

At first the only response he got was a wide-eyed stare. "What do you care?" he finally stammered out, trying to hide fear behind bravado.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," the blond said almost serenely, glancing around at the roadside with unseeing eyes.

Surprisingly, when the thief answered he sounded much calmer. "Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead."

They were interrupted by a soldier up above the gates calling out to the procession of carts. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good," the General replied. "Let's get this over with."

Hearing someone so casually say that the headsman was waiting sent Morgan into another bout of panic and she couldn't even comprehend what the thief started mumbling. _Someone please help me!_ She thought frantically, looking this way and that, searching for a way out. _This can't be right!_

"Look at him!" the warrior's disdained tone pulled Morgan out of her panic induced trance. "General Tullius the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." He glared at the General who was conversing with a couple of Aldmeri Dominion representatives as the carts were pulled past them and further into town. "Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this!"

They fell quiet again, but the silence seemed to irritate the warrior as he spoke again, switching topics so fast, it was almost enough to give Morgan whiplash. "This is Helgen," he commented absently, looking around the town as they lurched by in the cart. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with Juniper berries. It's funny," he continued with his ramblings, "when I was a boy, the Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Where are they going?" Morgan heard a boy ask and turned to look. The child was asking his father while pointing at the carts and the soldiers. The father wasn't pleased.

"Go inside, little pup," he ordered.

"Why?" the boy ignored him to look at the soldiers again. "I wanna watch the soldiers!"

"Inside the house! Now!" the father seemed to know exactly what was about to take place and it made Morgan shudder. The boy trudged inside with a heavy sigh of "Yes, dad."

"Get the prisoners out of the carts!" someone ordered.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief asked, his voice going up in pitch again. The warrior seemed amused by that.

"Why do you think?" he said in reply. "End of the line." The cart finally ambled to a stop in front of the wall of the keep and Morgan looked around at the town square they were now in. People were crowding on the sides, watching the proceedings with mixed expressions of disgust and glee that made Morgan shiver, more so than the cold that was biting in the thin rags she was wearing.

 _I hate the cold_ , she thought sullenly.

"Let's go," the warrior said loudly in front of her, pulling her out of her sulk. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No wait!" the thief yelled, even as he stood to follow after the Jarl and jump down from the cart. "We are not rebels!"

"Face your fate with some courage, thief!" the warrior grumbled from behind Morgan as she balanced precariously for a moment, trying to figure out how to get off the cart without falling over with her hands bound.

"You have to tell them! We weren't with you!" the thief continued his frantic pleas. "This is a mistake!"

"Head towards the block when we call your name!" ordered a woman standing in front of them. She was wearing Imperial Officer Armor and her bearing clearly screamed superior, despite her lack of height that was glaringly obvious next to a large Nord in simple Imperial armor next to her. "One at a time!"

"Ugh!" the warrior grumbled, hopping down from the cart next to Morgan. "Empire loves their damned lists." The remark almost made Morgan smile, but she was too busy being scared and freezing to death.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Whindhelm," the man started on the list. The fancily dressed Nord stepped forward with as much dignity as he could muster and marched towards the block.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the warrior said to Ulfric's back. The back, predictably ignored him. _I am reduced to being a clown in my own head_ , Morgan thought with a touch of hysterics.

"Ralof of Riverwood," was the next name, and it turned out to be the warrior who gave Morgan an encouraging look before heading off to the block.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" the thief, Lokir, yelled frantically, stomping towards the Imperial captain.

"Halt!" she ordered crossly, but the thief ignored her.

"You're not gonna kill me!" he yelled as he took off running towards the gates out of town. Unfortunately he didn't get very far.

"Archers!" the captain yelled and the thief was promptly put down with at least two arrows, just down the road. "Anyone else feel like running?" the Captain asked angrily but no one answered her.

"Wait. You there," the Nord name-caller motioned for Morgan to step closer. "Step forward. Who are _you_?"

"My name is Morgan Veilantia," Morgan said quietly, looking between the Nord and the Imperial Captain uncertainly. "I'm just a traveler, left Cyrodiil to see the world."

"Captain, what should we do?" the Nord asked the Imperial at his side. "She is not on the list."

Morgan barely managed to keep a straight face when she heard that – Empire loves lists, so if she is not on it… maybe they will just let her go and forget all about it? She can get her few things back and head right back to Cyrodiil, and these people can continue on with whatever was going on here.

The Captain eyed her fellow imperial with distaste. "Forget the list," she spat harshly and Morgan felt as though she'd been slapped. "She goes to the block."

"By your order, Captain," the Nord said stoically before turning back to Morgan with a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. We will make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

Morgan could not care less what they do with her remains – they could leave her corpse hanging from a tree, it's not like she would know about that when she is dead – but this? They were going to kill her for _nothing_.

 _I am going to die_. Morgan thought through the ringing in her ears. There were dark spots appearing in her vision and she rather thought it fitting that she was about to faint – hopefully she will crack her head on the ground and won't know when they lope it off.

"Follow the Captain, prisoner," the man continued, but Morgan heard him as though she was under water. She automatically followed the accursed woman that was clearly in a bad mood and taking it out on innocent bystanders to the half circle of people surrounding the headsman's block – just a slab of wood on the ground, really.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," the General said loudly, shaking Morgan from her fright induced stupor. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use the power of the Voice to murder High King and usurp his throne! You started this war!" the General all but yelled. "Brought Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" Ah. _That_ 's why they gagged him – so he won't shout them into Oblivion.

Just as the General finished the speech there was a strange echo from the mountains behind the town, where they had crossed the border.

"What was that?" one of the Imperials asked as everyone looked up curiously.

"It's nothing," the general said dismissively, staring down Ulfric who was staring crossly back. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" The Captain woman Morgan was positively already hating saluted the General and gestured to a priestess that was standing quietly next to the executioner. "Give them their last rights."

The priestess nodded and lifted her arms to address the sky. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines be upon you…"

One of the Stormcloak soldiers snorted. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" He marched up to the front, only stopping once he was in front of the block. Morgan really admired him – he was either fearless or absolutely stupid, throwing his life away like that.

"As you wish," the priestess said stiffly, obviously offended, before turning on her heel and walking off. The Captain pushed the brave soldier down to his knees and then over to lay his head on the block. The rest of the soldiers were stoically silent, watching their comrade, while the townspeople were talking amongst themselves quietly. It was a din of background noise that won't let Morgan completely lose her mind and she was equally thankful and resentful of that.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials!" the man said loudly from his position on the block as the executioner lifted his axe. "Can you say the same?"

The axe fell and his head rolled off the block into the waiting basket. Morgan flinched at the gushing blood and the sight of the bloody stump where a head should have been when the Captain kicked the body off the block and to the side to make room for the next unfortunate soul.

"You Imperial bastards!" Yelled a Stormcloak woman. "Justice!" Yelled some man in the crowd at the back. "Death to the Stormcloaks!" spat another woman venomously.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof said quietly and calmly as though speaking an epitaph. He might as well have, seeing as the now dead Stormcloak was unlikely to get a truly proper burial.

"Next, the renegade Imperial!" the captain ordered and it was all Morgan could do not to crumble to the floor in tears.

There was another strange echo from above and everyone paused again to look around. "There it is again," Name Caller said, casting his eyes around in worry. The captain glared at him for interrupting her.

"I said, next prisoner!"

The name caller sighed and beckoned Morgan to come to the block. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

His words fell on deaf ears as Morgan grit her teeth to keep them from chattering from fright or cold, she wasn't sure, and shuffled forward with as much dignity as she could muster. The captain gave her a scorching glare which Morgan met with an impassively cold look of her own, feeling the need to make the woman look away first and feeling immensely satisfied when she did. The captain instantly got back at her for it by knocking her down to her knees unceremoniously and pressing her down to the block with her foot.

Not wanting to see when the axe fell, Morgan unfocused her eyes, staring through the executioner and to the blue sky above. It was peaceful and grew quiet until Morgan spied something very strange coming right at them; it was huge – too big to be a bird and it let out a thunderous roar as it landed with a ground-shaking thud atop the tower the executions were taking place in front of. It took Morgan a moment to understand exactly what she was looking at and another to realize that the executioner had tumbled to the ground when the huge black dragon landed.

"What in Oblivion is _that?_!"

"Sentries, what do you see?" Morgan vaguely heard someone shout and the answering shrill cry of "It's in the clouds!"

The dragon sat atop the tower for an excruciating moment just looking down at all the people before it opened its maw and roared _something_. The thunderous sound sent everyone in the square flying to the ground and Morgan's vision blurred as she hit with a painful thud that resonated in her bones.

 _Damn, that hurt_ , she thought shaking her head to try and focus on what was happening. There were more thunderous roars and pieces of debris flying everywhere, rocks and bricks from the tower and the smell of burning permeating the air; Morgan's mind scrambled in the madness, unable to find anything she could latch onto for clarity and it took her a few moments to realize someone had been speaking to her.

"Hey, Imperial!" someone called from somewhere close to her. "Get up! We won't get another chance! Come on, woman!" she lifted her head with some difficulty and spied Ralof crouching just ahead of her, wildly gesturing for her to get up. She attempted just that, forcing herself to her feet and stumbling towards him. Seeing that he had her moving, Ralof turned around to quickly survey their surroundings and led the way to the nearest tower. Morgan stumbled after him, ducking her head in fright as the dragon lay waste to the town and debris flew everywhere. Ralof had paused and doubled back for her when he decided that she was not moving fast enough; grabbing her arm, he all but dragged her after him, tossing her ahead of him into the doorway and in the relative safety of the tower. The tower was already occupied by more Stormcloaks led by their Jarl.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked his leader hoarsely, staring at the closed door as though the dragon would burst through it at any moment. Which would not have been that surprising all things considered – although it was just as likely that the bloody beast would simply bring the tower down on top of them.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied tersely, looking over his remaining soldiers before his eyes settled on a stray – Morgan felt just as out of place amongst the armored Nordic men and women as she undoubtedly looked, but Ulfric did not mention her presence, simply choosing to overlook the dainty Imperial girl. "We need to move! Now!"

"Up through the tower!" Ralof yelled pointing to the stairs. "Let's go."

Ralof went first, tugging Morgan to her feet and then pushing her ahead of him as they scrambled up the stairs. Nothing was said, not that Morgan had any breath to carry on a conversation between all the running and the freezing cold – the rags she was wearing were really far from fit to be considered clothing in this weather and she rather thought that the Imperial soldiers were trying to make her freeze to death. _Well, they are succeeding_ , Morgan thought, unable to stop her teeth from chattering as she finally made it up to the landing and found another Nord soldier crouched by the stairs. He opened his mouth to say something to her but never got the chance to.

With a loud crash, the wall of the tower gave, killing the man with the flying bricks as the monstrous dragon stuck its head inside and screamed fire. Morgan barely avoided being burned to a crisp by pressing into the wall of the tower just by where the dragon made an improvised window. The fire slipped by her and down the stairs, concealing anyone who would have been following Morgan up the stairs and likely killing them.

Not wanting to wait around for the dragon to finish her too, Morgan scrambled up the remaining stairs as soon as the dragon pushed away from the tower, getting distracted by something else. Not letting herself think too much about what she was doing, Morgan took a few steps back and made a running leap to the house just next to the tower. The roof had been almost taken off of it and it was on fire, but the floors seemed sturdy enough and Morgan cried out in pain at the harsh landing. Luckily, she did not break or twist anything on landing and the floorboards held as she scrambled to the other side of the house and found a hole in the floor. The drop wasn't nearly as far as the jump she already made, so she didn't think twice about jumping down. The cacophony of sound outside was disorienting and there was only one thought running through Morgan's head as she stumbled outside the house – get away; it was all for the better since there was barely any room to think and only time to react trying to avoid death. In the pandemonium outside Morgan ran into, she found the Nord that was doing the name call and an old man encouraging a small boy to run to them and away from the dragon that had just landed around another house and started to scream fire just as the boy made it to the make-shift shelter.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay way," the name caller ordered catching sight of Morgan just behind them. She nodded shakily and he turned to the old man. "Gunmar, take care of the boy. I need to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," the old man rasped, pulling the young boy further away from the open street and behind the house. The name caller revealed to be Hadvar nodded to him and gestured for Morgan to follow, which she readily complied with, desperate to get out of this death-trap. She could barely keep up with the man's long strides and stumbled a few times, but Hadvar kept checking on her over his shoulder every once in a while and she kept going. Everything was happening so fast – one moment they were running in the street, the next Hadvar was hauling her behind a house to avoid the dragon that landed on the wall just above them. "Stay close to the wall," Hadvar ordered, crouching down beside her to avoid being noticed and they waited until the dragon took off again to keep moving, bursting through another destroyed house and back into the open. The Imperials took a stand there, a few mages slinging fireballs at the dragon and soldiers raining arrows, but nothing seemed to do any good.

They took a sharp left in front of the defenders and bolted for the keep, ducking and weaving to make sure they won't be hit by the abundance of stray objects flying about.

"Hadvar! Into the Keep, soldier! We are leaving!" someone shouted from somewhere ahead; Morgan thought it sounded like the General, but she wasn't sure and she did not really care, so long as she wasn't left behind to die. Hadvar did not seem to entertain the idea of abandoning her, risking his neck yet _again_ to come back and haul her to her feet when the dragon flying overhead had knocked her to the ground. She had found herself on the ground _again_ , when she noticed Hadvar staring down someone that got in his way.

"Ralof, you damn traitor!" He yelled angrily. "Out of my way!"

"We are escaping, Hadvar!" Ralof yelled back just as angrily. "You are not stopping us this time!"

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar spat, finally noticing that Morgan wasn't behind him and doubling back to get her on her feet. Ralof had looked at her long and hard, obviously about to say something, but whatever he was going to say stayed with him because the dragon chose that moment to fly overhead again, forcing all three of them to scramble for cover and Hadvar had hauled her into the Keep before she realized what had happened.


End file.
